


Winter Was the Hardest

by orphan_account



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Fiddleford is Homeless, Gen, Stan is a Good Guy, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 15:30:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10468239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: For Old Man McGucket, winter was the hardest. Luckily, somebody decides to help him out a little bit.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I read "A Little Princess" recently ok this needed to be done  
> Also Stan knows what it's like to be homeless and friendless so he had to do something

Winter was the hardest.

He hugged the ratty blanket tighter over his bony shoulders, shivering in the frigid air. His eyes watered and stung, the involuntary tears threatening to freeze on his pale, wrinkled skin and tangled beard. This was one of those days where he wouldn’t even venture out to forage for food. It was better to be hungry than freeze.

He didn’t remember who he was. That was probably more terrifying than the idea of freezing. That cold, empty feeling of oblivion that resided disturbingly in his mind, reminding him that he really  _ was _ as crazy as everyone always said. All he had to go off of was a vague but intense recollection of a fear so consuming that he...he...he couldn’t remember, couldn’t remember, couldn’t  _ remember. _ He squeezed his eyes tight shut.  _ C’mon, McGucket, c’mon, who are you? All ya have is a last name, a raccoon, and a buncha newspapers. Who are you? Who are you? _

**An Eye.**

He shrieked and fell over.

Nope. No more trying to remember today.

He squished himself into a corner of his shack and curled tighter under his threadbare blanket.  _ I’ll sleep this one off. Sleep makes a body warm, _ he thought drowsily, before slipping into a deep, almost comatose sleep.

He stopped shivering.

* * *

The sound of his door closing woke him up. “Who was that?” he cried weakly. “If’n ya stole anythin’, I'll….” He trailed off in astonishment.

He was warm. There was a new, thick, fleece blanket draped over him. A soft coonskin hat, a brown gently-used coat, a pair of wool socks, and a pair of gloves sat nearby. The walls were lined with furs, rugs, and blankets, keeping in the heat from a large fire that was crackling in the middle of the floor. A large cardboard box sat near the fire, and when Old Man McGucket crept toward it, he saw several large cans, boxes, and pans of food.

Starving, he ripped open the tin foil over one of the pans and began shoveling the hot food into his mouth, not caring as it spilled over and stained his yellowing beard. He knew he should probably slow down so he didn’t get sick, but he was far too hungry to care. It just tasted so good.

Finally, he sat back, panting and rubbing his distended belly. “I wish I knew who done this,” he said aloud to his shack, “cause I’d give ‘em a mighty fine thank-you.”

Then his eyes fell once more on the cardboard box.  _ The Mystery Shack  _ was written on the side.

“The Mystery Shack,” he whispered.

* * *

There was a knock on the door of the Mystery Shack. “We’re closed,” Stan Pines growled, and took another sip of his coffee.

A silence, then another knock.

Grumbling, Stan got up out of his chair and approached the door. “Don’t ever get visitors here,” he mumbled. “Why all of a sudden one shows up?”

He opened the door and there, twitching slightly, was Old Man McGucket, wearing gloves, socks, and one of Stan’s old coats. “A-ah,” the hillbilly stammered, “y-you….”

Stan just stared at the little man. “What d’you want?”

“I j-just wanted to say th-thank you,” the hobo shrieked, then scampered away.

Stan waited until the old man had run off before letting a smile split his face. Giving stuff away felt surprisingly good.


End file.
